


Golden Waters

by bumblebutt



Category: Naruto
Genre: (u know how jashinists are), Blood, F/F, F/M, Gore, I'm sorry for going off the rails, I'm trying, M/M, Ouch, Tattoos, The Drama, ahem so tags, alrighty folks, and I hope you like Mad Max, and Sakura Haruno, bc she is gonna kick some ASS, but idk im bad at continuing, everything typicial of Mad Max AUs, i dont want my baby readers to be hurt, if there are a lot of those?, ill write a few chaps, little buns, murder fun, pls dont trigger yourself by reading it without regarding warnings!, pls enjoy what i made for u!, probably see this is why i need a beta reader to nag me, sacrificial murder, so yeah?, someone gets their brains mashed in through their temples, this is what I've been cooking up, uh what else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebutt/pseuds/bumblebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you like ass getting kicked? Sakura Haruno? Genocidal maniacs? MAD MAX?! Well BOY do I have the AU for YOU! Stay tuned!</p><p>(does this count as a summary? it totally does, right?! Well, there's a better one inside, if you want...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Waters

**Author's Note:**

> Here's your extra summary.
> 
> *breathes in, hands held together like a certain aquatic sponge*
> 
> *breathes out*
> 
> TSUNADE YOU DONE F U C K E D UP

The sun was beating down on an already dead road when Sakura decided to make a run for it.

She slipped down from her post amid the chaos of their group's customary spat among the border patrol of a rival faction. Heat blossomed over the side of her assembly's right side from a grenade, and she paid no mind when the wet crunch of a leg wrenched off sprayed red fluid from above. No scream sounded so she assumed the recipient had lost more than just a limb, or two.

Nothing in this hellpit made any difference to a hardened raider like herself.

Sakura heaved the release to the tanker's clasps, sticky pink hair plastered to her forehead, and quickly flicked off the hydraulics on a side panel. If she was to escape the group, a faked death was the best option- and Tsunade was a hard broad to fool. Sakura watched apathetically as the dials whirled and twisted madly in pressure spikes. A few of the drivers were shouting obscenities at the opposing side- some were too busy lighting molotov cocktails with crude oil. Nobody gave the second-in-command a second glance.

Before they were alerted to the now dangerously pressurised tanker's hold, she pulled the small rucksack from the locker adjacent to the panel- filled with enough stale bread and milk to last a few days. She smeared a fresh coat of crude oil over her half-shaven scalp to deflect sun, and lastly attached a studded metal bat- her weapon of choice- back onto her backstrap.

There wasn't much time, now.

Aforementioned dials writhed now in warning of the impending explosion, and she quickly exited the semi-protected interior of the truck-trailer.  Desert sun hit her eyes harshly as acid, and she was glad of the goggles and scarf protecting her from its rays. Explosions rocked the side of their vehicle- roughly throwing the pinkette off balance. 

Hardly enough time was given to haul herself back upright on the rig's handlebars before the screaming of engine pressure and hydraulics failure finally caught the attention of her driver. She screeched madly and jammed down their only alarm system- a roar of a cut engine and their driver's subsequent escape by leaping out of the cockpit and into the grinding turtle treads below.

Across the road from them, the other entourage began to jeer and taunt, their grotesque black and white war paint glistening like lizard scales. One, his eyes rolled back and rusted piercings oozing pus flings a crudely made explosive, hacking out his laugh hysterically.

Sakura steadies herself with a violent curse, ready to take the leap for a dune of sand- any god help her make it while pushing 150- but found herself knocked back with a violent shove, pushed up against broiling pipes that hissed when they met her skin. Sakura cursed again, seething at the other with their hands digging into her shoulders, drawing blood.

Ino's eyes were boiling with anger and betrayal, and she shoves the pinkette again into the pipes, dragging a yowl of anger and pain from Sakura. Sakura wrenched her arm under the ones holding her, stumbling and throwing the blonde onto the ground of the truck's interior where Ino scrambled to her feet and stood, eyes full of disbelief and fury.

"I _saw_ you!" Ino screams at her, voice hoarse and full of hurt."What the hell are you thinking?! You were just going to leave us here to _die,_ after- what about Tsunade?! _After all she's done for us?!_ What about Anko and Kurenai? Do they mean-" a violent lurch of the car had Ino lunging at Sakura, hands wrapped around her throat and squeezing, pushing on the delicate airway, straddling the pinkette with her legs on either side of Sakura's struggling ones, thumbs concentrated on crushing her windpipe- " _Nothing_ to you?!"

Sakura threw her hips to the side, throwing Ino off. The blonde, not expecting the sudden movement, crashed into the control panel housing the wiring, with its sparking interior, and electrocuting the blonde on contact. Ino shrieked, wrenching herself away from it, limbs twitching from the nasty shock, legs refusing to move as Sakura righted herself, breaths labored.

Sakura sat up, wheezing, wiping spittle and a spot of blood off of her chin. "Yeah." Sakura tenderly rubbed the skin of her throat, red fingermarks already imprinted on the white skin, "I've decided...you all..." Sakura, voice hoarse, struggled to get her breath back, left hand reaching into her thigh-pack and pulling a few senbon out, threading three of the wicked needles between her fingers while the other girl writhed in pain. Ino staggered to her feet, legs shaking on borderline collapse, tears rolling fat, wet and heavy down her cheeks. The salty liquid made steaming **_plips_ ** on the burning metal floor, before Ino ripped her gaze up to glower at the girl she had considered her sibling, her closest _friend_.  

Sakura, meanwhile, coughed; meeting the blonde's blue eyes with her own, startling green, and smiling, said- 

" _I've decided...that you just aren't worth saving._ "

Ino's eyes widened, slitting in the next second, and throwing away all sense of caution threw herself at Sakura, hand thrown back to deliver a solid, clumsy punch. Sakura rose to meet her, the laced senbon thrown before Ino can react.

The needles punched into Ino's forehead, crippling the thrown punch and sending the blonde to the shuddering floor in a twitching heap, Sakura dispassionately blinking down at her. A small trickle of blood dripped from the embedded needles, trailing and mingling in the tears gathered on dead, filmy eyes, and Sakura silently, briefly, mourned.

It was sad, really, how devoted to Tsunade, Ino had been. Sakura had watched, had seen Tsunade kill Ino's only brother, the boy they had grown up with, the brother they had loved so _deeply_ \- and she had watched as Ino's smile became a grin, how she had said to Sakura, standing there in front of Naruto's limp little body that _Isn't it great, Sakura? Now it's just us girls! No filthy, gross boys to trip us up! Tsunade was right!_ and acted as if Naruto had never even existed. Was never her brother, someone they _cherished_.

As far as Sakura was concerned, Ino had died with Naruto, by Tsunade's hand.

This Ino's death fazed her but for a second, but in the next the crew began to wail and beat on their chests, retaliating to the other group even while their vehicle was on the verge of collapse, death spitting in their eyes. Idiots. Sakura stumbled over the the doorway left ajar, did not glance back at Ino's still body heaped on the floor. She jumped, leapt for the sand dunes and rolled onto a sequentially shattered arm. Sakura yowled and clutched the limb carefully as she rolled bumpily down the dunes. Into _enemy territory_. In the back of her ringing head, she could feel the ground shudder and twitch, could just hear the screams of people being burned and ripped asunder by fire and pure force.

The world went black.

 

* * *

 

 _Shit._  

When the landscape had finally come back to her, and when she had confirmed she had hit nothing too important, she stood quickly and carefully- tearing off her scarf to quickly bind the broken limb, and staggered off as fast as her bruised legs would let her. If those idiots hadn't been pushing a hundred and fifty maybe she'd be better off, but there was no point in bitching now. She had to get supplies, get to a safe point and her next destination.

Red Sand territory. 

It was her best bet at getting away from a life she didn't want, a life shoved into her hands by the ones that took the lives of her friends- Tsunade would get what she deserved. But if Sakura remained complacent in the group, she would never get the chance she needed to wipe that damn smirk off the dirt of this dead, dry world.

She continued on.

When she managed to lurch up to the border road again, both sides were long gone- save the still-smoking carcass of her rig. Bodies littered the sandy dirt- dyeing what there was into sloppy, red mud. A single unit- a motorcyclist- had remained to try and resuscitate the wounded. How quaint. She limped over to them, quietly and swiftly, however, the girl whipped around at the sound of shifting dust. Sakura grimaced.

"Captain! I was sure you were _dead."_ The girl gasped, shirt red and bloodied by shrapnel pieces. Her raven's mask, made from old, scratched pleather stretched harshly over tinfoil, lay abandoned in the dirt, its glass eyes glinting and tattered ribbons half-covered in sand. Sakura fell to her knees next to her, taking the offered bandage for her wounds. "Please, help me take Tenten back to base- she's bleeding really bad, and-" the girl sobbed, this girl, who Sakura faintly knew as Hinata was never allowed to finish. Sakura placed a hand kindly on the back of the girl's neck to silence her, and she smiled. 

And then snapped it, with the ease of wringing a bird's.

There was no sound, but hardly a gasp of surprise before the girl was limp in the red sloppy dirt around them. Sakura stood up and brushed drying patches of blood off her knees indifferently, glancing down blankly at the limp form of the raven haired woman. Her pale lavender eyes were blank and unseeing. But Sakura was hardened. Indifferent. 

In a world like this you can't afford to be soft. She had very well might have done the girl a favor. Being so kind will only get you killed.

  _And it did_ , she thought sadly, turning to the dead around them.

In a better time, in a better _place_ they could have been friends. Here, she was a witness to Sakura's treason. Simple as that.

Without the constant pressure of a kind hand to keep them breathing, the one in front of her began to gurgle and choke on the red froth in their mouth. It was grotesque, but she delivered the same, merciful death to this one, too. After kicking aside the now-dead crewwoman, Sakura shifted her vision to the dead of the opposing brigade, caught in the explosion of their own. One, her cotton-candy pink hair drenched and fluttering, pieces of gray brainmatter caught in the tangles, lay slumped over the side of a small dune, dumped by her comrades. Sakura, limping over, used her boot to ease the body over onto its back, noting the trademark iron necklace. A circle and a triangle, melted together into an occult symbol. Sakura snorted, the dust around her puffing away at the gesture, blowing off into the radioactive desert around them to join the other particles dancing over barren wasteland.

_Who needs a God that leaves them in Hell?_

_Or rather,_ Sakura grunted, grabbing the intact arm of the other to pull them over to the wreckage of her own group, their body riddled with cuts that oozed red to smear with messy black and white bodypaint, _Who needs a God that led us into it?_  

First were the clothes, then the stupid necklace. Well, not that there were many articles to begin with, consider their lunatic cult- the way of...Gashing? _Jash?-_ didn't exactly consider covering up holy. Whatever willing, Sakura could bet a _gallon_ of water the whole lot were covered in cancer clots and sunburn. Plus, sand in less than _desirable_ places.

She stripped the body, tossing aside the flimsy polyester and plastic into the burning wreckage, like _hell_ if she would be caught dead in it, and then removed her own, save the protective vest. She fitted her clothes onto the other, making sure to slash off the long, taffy hair to match her own. The lack of tattoos was a little disappointing, but it would have to do. If luck was with her, she could get the flames to mar the skin beyond recognition, and with it, hopefully, she would have a very dead double.

 So, Sakura was left with the rather unpleasant duty of cooking, a responsibility and task she was not unfamiliar with, but found less than enjoyable.

Tsunade was a leader who believed staunchly in not wasting energy, and not wasting energy meant that every resource was to be hoarded and saved. Naturally, this included the dead. A young Sakura became acquainted with removing bones to use for grenadeheads, gall bladders for medicine, stomach acid for molding. Organs were always in demand, if they were still intact, and were stored in the group's most precious hold- the medical ward's icery. A pyre used what remained as fuel, and so the wafting smell of cooked human meat was something almost homey to her.

So, after leaving her new roasted look-alike draped over the edge of burned rubber tires, dispatching any survivors, or those with fatal wounds, she scoured the group for anything that wouldn't be missed too much- some bread, medical supplies, guns. There was a good amount already gone, from the other patrol no doubt, but she managed to get a good amount of ammo for an older shotgun in the underside compartment of the vehicle miraculously untouched. The inside of the tanker's transport hold was a casket of ripped and blackened metal, only the ribs of it remaining from the explosion. Nothing here. 

Hinata still lay where Sakura had left her, clothes dry albeit spotted with blood, and she took the chance to remove them and fit them to herself. Sakura tried not to scowl at how empty the chestplate felt, glaring down at the other's ample, pale breasts. But the time for petty envy was not now, and indeed even with her shriveled empathy Sakura couldn't help but gather the woman into her arms bridal-style, carrying the unmarred young woman over to the smouldering wreckage still smoking with oily fire.

Sakura closed Hinata's unseeing, unnerving pale eyes with her clean fingers, almost afraid to dirty a clean soul's body, and settled her into the smoking metal, fire licking the edges, and in no time at all, she could see blisters popping along her full hips and calves. Unwilling to see the rest, Sakura gathered oil from the sloppy ground and splashed it onto the still, curled, _pure_ body, and did not stay to watch Hinata's body burn away to ash. It didn't feel just to witness.

It wasn't Sakura's right to send her off.

 

* * *

 

 

Luckily the now ownerless motorcycle was full of oil already, and fuel- it would get her a good few hundred miles at the least. A head start that exponentially lifted her chances of reaching the Red Sands. With her mind made up, she tore the insignia off her vest and threw the violet swirled cloth into the mud. It floated for a mere few seconds before soaking into the puddle- now dyed a violent, angry red.

Soon, everything would be red.

 

* * *

 

The base was a behemoth of metal wrought together into a sort of gate- she suspected the rest lay deep underground. With no water to flood them out, the defense was a good one. A mountain of framework encircled the area, brimming with a stockade of militia weaponry. Harmless enough to bypass- too guarded to beckon trouble. The perfect scorpion's nest. 

Sakura skidded down the side of the dusty dune- sending a shower of sand down onto the ground below. She pretended not to notice the cameras, chipped and weary, perched on the metal fence stabbed into the rockface, topped with razorwire. If Sasori didn't know she was coming, he did now.

The road transitioned from sandy dirt to metal plates, covered in ridges meant for shredding tires. Sakura removes her bat from its strap, letting the heavy, comforting weight of it hang in her fingers. The men stationed at the gate ahead follow it with their eyes when she slams the butt of it into the metal flooring of the entrance, and resounding vibration announcing her intent like a thunderclap.The studded nodes drags on the flooring like flints, sending sparks flashing when she lifts it to point at the gathered men. They aren't of high-enough rank to be given guns, and for that, Sakura is grateful.

"I'm going to ask you politely, now." She starts, green eyes raking over the group of tatted fighters, spitting fire with her gaze, "To take me to your Head. I have business to discuss with Sasori."

A collective harking laugh bursts at her, one of the younger ones taking a hacking drag of his cigarette and smirking. He leans on the many battered wooden crates lining the wrought gate, gesturing around to the arid wasteland around them, his gray eyes glinting nastily. "I'm not quite sure what you're expecting, love." He cackles, eyes roaming over her armoured frame and snaking a dry tongue over cracked, tobacco caked lips. "This home of ours ain't exactly got a welcome party for 'business'. We, on the other hand would be _delighted_ to show the miss a good time. A cunt's a cunt, right boys?" raucous laughter exploded at his remark. He lurches to stand straight, his rusted and rough-serrated machete resting on a shoulder, emboldened by the other's approval. Sakura remains silent when he slinks over confidently, footsteps kicking up dust, and her eyes follow him, cold like that of a predator's, waiting for provocation.

His hand grabs her shoulder, and the reaction is instantaneous.

Sakura wrenches the man's shoulder around, the surprised young man yelping like an animal, pulling his chin back with her hand until she can audibly hear his jaw click. Dislocated. No sound escapes him now with his neck bent at the impossible angle, and Sakura briefly entertains the idea of just snapping his neck mercifully. But making an example out of him...it might save her some trouble in dealing with the others. She shoves the lean man to the ground, stomping on the small of his back with her boot harshly, pushing his face into the boiling metal floor. A man he might be, packed with lean muscle gained in hard labor, but Sakura is relentless, and experienced. She straddles the man's back, gripping the moaning boy's skull with a vice-like grip.

Her thumbs push into the man's filthy temples, and she can feel them break past the thin layer of skin, rough and jagged nails crushing the skull underneath with brute and cruel force. He finally begins to scream, the sound ragged and pleading. But she doesn't relent, shoving deeper until she can't see the joint of her hand. Her victim has stopped screaming- possibly dead. Hard to tell if a man can really survive having his brain flossed with fingers. The chunky blood that seeps from the wound points to a prominent 'no', and Sakura quickly wipes the clotted red away on her pants, rising fluidly to her feet like a viper. 

The men shift uneasily, fingers rubbing the handles of their weapons now that they know she is no spring lamb, muttering nervously to each-other as she stares them down. Unlike them, she has resolve. Resolve enough to take life without reason or consequence- and they knew it. A few of the younger members, their skin still warped and red from fresh tattoos and markings look to their seniors for direction, eyes sliding back and forth skittishly.

"I said." Sakura bit out, flicking the remaining blood off of her fingers and stepping heavily over the barely breathing man, "Take me to your Head, or I'll _take_ _yours_ instead." The biggest one, previously reclining in the only shade provided by the scant cover, thumbs a stout, short blade in his hands, thick and meaty fingers cracking themselves menacingly. He rises to his feet, and tosses the surprisingly sharp switchblade to stab into the wooden crate beside him, digging deep. He is big, it is true, but Sakura can see the inexperience in his gait and the way his eyes are dragging over her lax stance, sifting for weaknesses. He has not even noticed the broken arm, tied in cloth. He is large. But he is also a fool. His footsteps are as heavy as the metal heel of his large boots, barreled chest crisscrossed by a single, scabbed over branding mark. A scorpion. Around it, threading black lines lash over his ribs, along which small text is tattooed. _Identification?_ Sakura can see similar writing on the others, each varying in size and length. _No. Not identification, not quite. Labels, like ear tags on cows._

Sakura represses a nasty smirk when he grins grandiosely, edging around her, unwilling to get in her range of attack, nor able to back off.

"Now hold your engine there, girlie," He rumbles, almost afraid, _almost_ because she can see the nervous bead of sweat on his brow. But his eyes are not cowed, they are almost...resigned. Almost like her own. For him, it was to take her on and face a gruesome, painful death at her hands, or back off to face worse. The wolves were waiting for their leader to fail, to swoop in and kill him themselves if a weakness came to light. 

Sasori nor his men do not take kindly to cowards, and perhaps it was this that made his soldiers so loyally vicious. There was nothing left to fear if you feared your own. "We can't jus' have you waltz right in and smash up the place. We have rules here. An order, if you will. None of that 'waltzy she-cunt' disorder here- where whores just have the _run_ of the pla-"

 

**_CRACK_ **

 

Sakura is in front of him, her good hand swinging the metal bat with such force that the whistling weapon vanished from her target's vision, smashing into a laughably breakable skull. Blood burst out of his shattered head, the men around her too stunned to move, watching their best man's slushed and mashed brains leak onto the ground when its owner's body hit bloodied metal, the gray matter even beginning to steam and boil. Sakura's next target is in her eyes in an instant, jade eyes locked on and going for the kill, whipping around with her bat held in the tips of her fingers, ready to kill.

The boy she set her sights on next, perhaps not even 15 years old, raised his arms to protect his face, so Sakura went for his ribs, the studded metal weapon making contact with a satisfying **_crunch_ ** and a wail of pain that almost had Sakura recoiling, and in annoyance whipped around for another blow-

"Stop! _STOP_ ! We'll let you in! _Don't kill my brother!_ **_Please!_ ** " had her bat denting the side of a cargobox adjacent instead of the boy's fragile cranium. Sakura glanced behind, bat still punched into the wood beside her. The one who had spoken up was even younger, maybe even on his very first mission. Too naive to know what horrors he may face for saving his brother. The first boy, clutching his battered and broken ribs tried to speak, to stop the child from relenting to her, but found himself unable to when Sakura drove his face into the floor with her boot's heel, preventing him from interfering, perhaps breaking his nose in the process.

She turned to the young boy who was waving the keys to the gate in his small, trembling and smudged hands, eyes hidden behind a pair of two-sizes-too-big goggles, knees knocking in trousers dirtied and gray. The tattoos were still bleeding, maybe a few days old. His fellow gatekeepers were cowed against the barbed fence, glad and relieved to have another take the blame, take the punishment for treason. And Sakura almost pitied the boy.

Almost.

Instead she snatched the keys from his shaking hands, turned away as he ran to his older brother to perhaps console him, to be shook about when the other could stand, panicked and desperate words to run away unheeded by his younger sibling while the others closed in like hyenas. Slinging her bat over her shoulder, Sakura heads into the gate without a second thought, eyes on her goal even as the men she leaves behind scramble to take the gear of the one alive still, the other victims' gray brains frying in the sun.

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken three dead guards (not counting the two gatekeepers) a manservant and one particularly savage, possibly rabid guard dog before she had managed to get an audience. Well, that and a very loud declaration that was a ' _trusted subordinate of Tsunade, full of classified information and having a very big grudge to keep, so get the FUCK out of my way'._ And so, the guards were called away, and Sakura had her first encounter with Sasori's personal entourage- massive, hulking men whose biceps very well overturned her body's width in size.

The brutes themselves are _big_ , inhumanly so, and lead her down the maze of corridors swiftly, a moving stampede that Sakura discovered were remarkably agile. For being underground, and supposedly hand-dug, the lair is massive. They emerge upon a hall. A hall, perhaps not, being so huge and wide and scored with rusted metal. A throne room, even. Fountains of oil drizzle down the walls and wash away under the floor in a black river, from pipes that flew far beyond what she could see above. Just how far down were they? The pipes curled and wound like veins, encapsulating and caging the room in iron, a strong smell of petroleum tinging the air. Sakura steels her nerves, still nursing the possibly infected bite wound, to instead land her line of vision on the figure lounged ahead.

The room tapers into the center, like an egg's interior, apexing on the pipes meeting the very center of the room. They coiled together, forcibly wrenched into the shape of a throne fit for a tyrant. And there a tyrant sat, flanked by officers _covered_ in black lines screaming authority, by whipped and trembling servants carrying flasks of wine and water, bread, and even stranger, oil from olives. Because that's what the hell pit filled with the drowning blackstuff needed. More oil.

But when Sakura's eyes fell on that tyrant, sitting there like he owned the _goddamned_ world, red is all that comes to mind. Red, red and dark black blood. Sasori is a menacing figure to behold, of that she is sure and cautious of. Delicate fingers of the demon’s sole personal attendant skim over the bare and scarred chest of the Head’s body. _Gold_ oil. It seems like everything in this clusterfuck of metal is oiled.  Sakura dips her head in a bow that has the ribbons of her tattered mask brushing the slick, black-grated floor. Fingers curled under his chin, the redhead's eyes feel like knives cutting into her skin, and she can feel the placid bloodlust ooze from him with every breath, every rise and fall of the other's well-toned torso. This is a man who has killed hundreds, _thousands_ by his own hands alone, not even encroaching on the tens of thousands of lives taken through his machine of subordinates and artillery.

Sakura was no stranger to the tales of Sasori's despicable means of interrogation and torture- his encyclopedic knowledge of the human body that rivalled Tsunade's made him a sadistic and... _creative_ man when it came to his methods of control. But unlike Tsunade, Sasori was more than ruthless- he was calculative, completely and chillingly insane. Sociopathic and deranged, he had taken over from the previous elder Chiyo, known for her brutality and coldness, and aggravated their territory in size and resources to ensure the Red Sands was a name to be feared.

Uncontested by neighboring sects- petrified and revulsed of Sasori's cruelty, the Red Sands became something of a small country, joining those like Amegakure, the only true source of fresh underground water, Konohagakure- her own traitorous home and Amegakure's ally, and the Holy Plains where the fanatic Jashin Sect held control in terms of prowess and cultish power. If Sakura wanted Tsunade dead, the Red Sands was her best shot. 

Sakura swallows the gritty residue in her mouth down, squaring her folded, bruised shoulders until they whine in pain.

“Head. I’ve to request to join your entourage.” it’s simple. It’s to the point and she hopes to whatever god is listening that it _works._ She can feel brusque, blue eyes rove over her. The attendant laving the oil onto Sasori’s chest sits up from their perch of the Head’s lean lap to better leer at her, and smirks. Sasori himself remains impassive. Bored.

“That’s pretty… _bold_ …of you, yeah? Especially from someone so, ah, _…plain_ .” The taunt is honey-smooth and venomous. Sakura grits her teeth so sharply they audibly click. The blonde lets a light and tinkling laugh echo through the yawning room and continues. “You wouldn’t be much use, anywhere other than the mines. Have any skills, anything at all? I’m assuming you didn’t do much than _‘service’_ cannon-fodder.” he snickers.

Sakura reins in her temper. It would get her killed to snap in front of someone as powerful as Sasori of the Red Sands. Pissing off his top whore would certainly get her tongue wrenched out. She growls.

"I am proficient in close combat." She hisses, "And extremely well adapted to bloodshed. I assure you, I do more than just look good."

The taunt does its job well, and the blonde shoots her a lethal glare with a scathing sneer. Sasori's bare and calloused hand worries the leather of the blonde's meager, if the word applied, clad hip in what seems to be a comforting gesture. The blonde turns away from her spitefully and murmurs to Sasori- soft and no doubt scornful, while Sasori continues rubbing absentmindedly at the blonde's side. Sakura tenses up immediately when the thoughtful gaze of the redhead lands on her, **probing**. 

"I have...many, already skilled warriors. Assassins. Drivers. Every one of them fine-tuned for a purpose." Sasori's voice is a slow baritone of bored monologue- each word carefully chosen and applied accordingly. Sakura wonders if he's always like this. "I have no need for a puppet as uncoordinated, nor faulty as you. Any place in my ranks is to be _earned_ , and I have seen no redeeming qualities thus far. Informed as you may be, do not do me the disservice of assuming you are the only one with such intel."

Sakura clenches her fist until the bones creak in protest. It's too soon, far too soon to fail- Sakura is diving forward before her mind can follow and gripping the redhead's blonde attendant before the room can register it.  She has him in a chokehold tight enough to render his windpipe useless. She would have to use force. "You will let me join," She starts, slow and simple, "Or blondie here gets a facial." she elaborates with the tip of her only hidden knife grazing the blonde's lip, digging into the infuriatingly soft, healthy skin there. He shivers in her grasp but does not move, wisely.

Sasori seems unperturbed, though a shade of surprise wallows in his expression and is gone in a breath. Guards on either side shift uneasily as is protocol when someone disobeys an order. Unaffiliated as the girl might be, no-one disobeys the Red King and manages to tell the tale after the ensuing trauma.

"I recall," He begins, quiet and solemn, "That I told you I do not tolerate weakness or uselessness." it is a statement, not a question, nor is it directed at her. His fury is evident and chilling, and she has mere seconds to try and register this before a powerful and _vicious_ jab to the gut has her breath escaping her. She keels over and tries to vomit- and subsequently right herself before the inevitable second blow comes. She fails to dodge.

The second blow comes.

It's a nasty roundhouse kick that sends her tumbling a good eight metres away and has her seeing stars. The blonde has righted himself now- elastic limbs and impossible flexibility returning to it's normal and fluid stance. She can see the veiled menace that for a mere second rears its ugly head, **_frothing_ ** -

"Deidara."

 The monster freezes. It contracts and lowers to the diminutive blonde before her now. Small. Delicate. Incapable. 'Deidara' sniffs and rights the many glittering beads that drip from his shoulders and hips- whirls around to walk right back to his waiting master-

 "Don't you _fucking_ move."

 A blue eye narrows.

 "Yeah? I'm pretty sure I just beat you straight, pinkie." Deidara jabs, rising back to the bait, the edge of a bristling smile visible behind a waterfall of blonde hair. Sasori doesn't stop him this time, and Sakura knows this is her golden chance.

"Hmph. I'd be hard-pressed to say I've seen weaker." it elicits the desired response of slitted blue irises. She continues. "A bit of thrash from a whelp of a boy isn't going to be enough to put me down," She spits to the side, lips curled into a smirk,"not in a long shot."  she taunts, riskily.

But Deidara regards her cooly, at odds with his previous reaction. He's serious now, and it shows- he raises one hand to pick the edge of two hairpin ornaments, both holding his loose, fine hair in place. Sakura keeps her face cool and even as the hairpins, each a hand's width long twirl between Deidara's fingers, each nothing but a silver blur that catch Sakura's eyes before she can stop them. Sakura knows when to spot someone experienced with these sorts of weapons- usually flexible and viperlike, fickle and unpredictable.

  
And here, was a snake.

**Author's Note:**

> Well? How did you like it? I have more stuff for the next chapter, though I wanted to just put this out there, this chap was supposed to be longer. WHICH MEANS GOOD AND BAD. Good is, the next chap is pretty much halfway done! BAD news is you'll have to live with this for now.
> 
> "But, Bumblebutt-sensei, you NEVER post the second chapter! You're a stringalong, procrastinating BASTARD!"
> 
> Ah...yes...
> 
> SO ahah this started out just a sasodei drabble and it became sakura-centric, somehow. And an actual story. Somehow. I actually really like Sakura, even if she married Sasuke in the end. (Sarada is a cute little mf, she's good.) You can't always get what you want! If you'd like to see what I imagine Sakura to be like in this, only with more tattoos and scars and maybe a little grubbier and tanner, lookit this!-
> 
> http://66.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lq4sgwfOeR1ql1ysto1_500.png
> 
> AKA 'pls crush me between ur thighs, miss haruno...'
> 
> Pls look forward to more stuff, and my tumblr is frakkenpandas! You can send me prompts or whatever on there. Or just comment here, that makes me ridiculously happy too... ╮(￣▽￣)╭


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